


PM Redux

by itstonedme



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-08
Updated: 2010-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:17:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itstonedme/pseuds/itstonedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A follow up to <a href="http://itstonedme.livejournal.com/25989.html#cutid1">Potty Mouth</a>.  Originally posted on LJ in August 2010 <a href="http://itstonedme.livejournal.com/45313.html#cutid1">here</a> with reader comments.</p>
<p>Disclaimer: A work of fiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	PM Redux

They're setting up for the Amon Hen shoot, the one at the foot of the seeing seat after Frodo has wrestled the ring from his finger and come tumbling down the stone steps, made visible again. The Uruk Hai fighting scenes have been done for days; the flight down the mountain is in the bag as well. All that remains for this afternoon's set up is a pledge between Frodo and Aragorn and their parting. Cameras are angled into place, make up does continuity touch-ups on both principle actors, and places are taken. Peter calls for silence, a horn blows, and then action.

Elijah looks up at Viggo -- no, at Aragorn, because the moment action is called, Viggo morphs right into the King of Men.

"'Frodo?'"

"'It has taken Boromir.'"

As Viggo steps towards him, speaking his lines ('Where is the ring?'), Elijah backs away, grief and fear and hopelessness writ large across his Frodo face, and in that movement, the coarse weave of his Elven cloak snags on a ridiculously hidden prop nail and rends ever so slightly.

"Fuck," says Frodo.

"Cut!" yells Peter.

" _Tsk, tsk,_ " tuts Viggo. "Remember, Ringbearer? Time and place."

The wardrobe assistant rushes over, admonishing Elijah not to make it worse by moving.

Elijah looks back at where's he's caught. "As if you didn't swear when your tooth was knocked out on Tuesday," he directs at Viggo while studying the rip. "Story goes that Aragorn painted the air purple."

"If I recall accurately," Viggo replies, smoothing the skirt of his coat, "it was the shard of tooth bouncing off an Uruk Hai forehead that shut the cameras down." 

Nothing pisses Elijah off more than the fact that Viggo never lets his pain or anything else stop a shoot: to wit, the broken toe. Nor the fact that Viggo never loses his cool or an argument. 

Sanctimonious bastard.

*

Dom and Elijah have been bouncing and stumbling all over each other, the dance floor and the bar for the better part of the last two hours, and their exit from the men's room is no different. After trying to both fit through the doorway at the same time, they collapse against the opposite wall in fits of laughter.

"A word, Master Frodo," Viggo mumbles as he comes upon them, clutching Elijah's upper arm and spinning him right back through the restroom doorway. Elijah has only enough time to cast a surprised, silly grin back at a laughing, wide-eyed Dom, one of his _What the fuck's with Viggo?_ looks, before the door closes behind them.

"I've been watching you," Viggo growls, pushing Elijah against the wall beside the light switch of the empty room. One hand comes up to bar Elijah's exit, if Elijah has any intention of escaping which he doesn't, and the other presses firmly against Elijah's chest.

"That right?"

"That's right." Viggo slides a one-sided smirk into place. "I think you're purposely being a bit of a cock-tease tonight."

Elijah dips his chin and looks up, all innocence and promise. "Me? Never," he drawls, grinning.

"Oh, I think you are. Because you are precocious and provocative and not used to being without attention…" His words are silenced as his mouth descends just below Elijah's ear, whiskers bristling and tongue laving the rabbity pulse point.

"Oh fuck," Elijah shivers.

Viggo bites down at the expletive, just a little hard, and Elijah smiles, shivering again.

*

Carefully, Viggo slips the 8 x 10 inch paper into the developing bath and taps the edge of the tray so that the solution washes over the paper's surface. Slowly, as ninety seconds tick by under the red safe-light, an image begins to take shape. It's always the photographer's magic moment; although he's done a contact sheet to narrow the selection of pictures he's decided to print, it's only now that the crispness of the negative's edges, the contrast of blacks, greys and whites that he's carefully burned, reveal themselves. 

"So fucking beautiful," he whispers, and picks up the wooden tongs so that he might capture the paper's corner and slip it into the stop bath.

Behind him, wheels roll on the floor as Elijah pushes the stool he's seated on away from the wall, gently coming to a stop as he abuts Viggo's thighs. "I heard that," he says quietly, snaking his arms around Viggo's waist and attempting to worm his head under Viggo's arm so that he can peek.

Viggo lifts his arm and drops it around Elijah's shoulders, angling himself to let Elijah see. It's a picture from the morning they've spent snowed out in Te Anau, one that he knows will someday hang on a gallery wall. He turns and bends to kiss Elijah's crown. 

"That's because this is the right time and place."


End file.
